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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732905">Trusting Patterns</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone'>NotPersephone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Count and Countess Lecter [46]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Festive Jumpers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:13:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,927</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28732905</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotPersephone/pseuds/NotPersephone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Du Maurier-Lecter family embrace a new holiday tradition.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bedelia Du Maurier/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Count and Countess Lecter [46]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/884424</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Trusting Patterns</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This story was meant to be posted weeks ago, but sadly I had little time off during the holidays. I was striving to find time to finish it ever since. I was considering scraping the whole thing altogether, but I had fun writing it, so here it is. Better late than never! And who says the Du Maurier-Lecter family can't celebrate any month they want?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mama, come and see!”</p><p>A beaming face of her 4-year-old daughter welcomes Bedelia as soon as she steps through the door to the library, excitement radiating through her tiny frame. The loose curls escaped from her braid indicate that the matter is of most importance. Bedelia smiles on a spot; it is always a joy to see her daughter’s ever-growing curiosity and where it leads her.</p><p>“What is it?” she asks, but Mira already grasps her hand and pulls her into the room with haste, the leisurely pace of her stride not being sufficient for such a vital discovery.</p><p>A gentle smile continues to pull at Bedelia’s lips as she lets Mira lead the way, expecting to be directed towards the desk where numerous crafted decorations and soon to be transformed into ones materials caught her daughter’s attention for the last few days. The citrus scent still suffuses the air, a reminder of the orange peel garlands they made yesterday. But, to Bedelia’s surprise, she is ushered towards the sofa, with Hannibal already sitting at one side, a tablet in his hands, a strangely bemused smile on his lips. Bedelia’s brows furrows in confusion, but she allows herself to be guided to sit down next to him. Mira plants herself between her parents, her favourite place to seat.</p><p>“Look at these,” she exclaims anew, hand already reaching to the tablet in Hannibal’s grasp, tiny finger moving through the images on the display with practiced dexterity.</p><p>Bedelia’s eyes follow her gesture and the smile on her lips vanishes on a spot as if with another swipe of a finger. Instant chill trickles down her spine with a dread settling on her mind, one she does not remember experiencing before. Perhaps while going into labour. She glances at the petite girl and her enraptured face, an unknowing culprit in all her innocence, then moves her gaze back to the tablet.</p><p>The numerous pictures on show exhibit a collection of festive jumpers, each one more colourful, and gaudier, than the one before.</p><p>“Aren’t they wonderful?” Mira bursts with continuing excitement, her eyes flaring up with each new picture appearing, “This one has animals!”</p><p>She stops to admire one with foxes knitted on its front and Bedelia does her best to keep an expression of approving interest, lost for words.</p><p>But <em>wonderful</em> is not the word she would use.</p><p>“I did not know they made jumpers just for Christmas,” Mira carries on with her explorations, gazing back and forth to her parents, proud of such worthy discovery.</p><p>Bedelia looks back at her daughter with tenderness but her thoughts are anything but reassuring. Her eyes steal a glance at Hannibal and find him looking back at her with the same smile she saw before, now turned amused, undoubtedly in equal parts by the jumpers and her unspoken apprehension. Bedelia’s stare narrows as she somehow suspects him being responsible for that accidental “discovery”. He certainly does not seem concern with what she knows will come next.</p><p>“We should get jumpers like these,” Mira declares, beaming brightly at her own amazing idea.</p><p>The chill on Bedelia’s skin turns to frost; she strives to keep her expression as pleasant as possible.</p><p>“I am not sure if there is enough time, <em>chèrie</em>. Christmas is only a week away,” she weaves her words with gentleness, not wanting to be too overt in her refusal, “Perhaps next year.” She hopes the notion will be long forgotten by then.</p><p>Mira’s eyebrows furrow as she is faced with troublesome practicalities, the corners of her lips dropping in slow dismay. Bedelia feels a sudden pang of remorse for cutting her suggestion off so blatantly. She reaches out to adjust the unruly strands of her daughter’s braid, her mind already pondering all the ways she can make it up to her. Surely, they can find less lurid traditions to embrace.</p><p>But she should have not considered the matter done so soon.</p><p>“I am certain we can arrange something,” the so far silent Hannibal joins in the least helpful way.</p><p>Mira’s eyes light up anew as she turns to look at him.</p><p>“Really, papa?” she asks, excitement once again filling her tiny stature.</p><p>“Of course,” Hannibal reassures, looking back at her and ignoring Bedelia’s stern gaze, piercing through him in the background, “Something bespoke I think, wouldn’t that be better?”</p><p>“Oh yes!” Mira almost vibrates with the potential of this improved idea. “Is that all right, mama? Could we get them?” Mira turns back to Bedelia. The movement is very swift but Bedelia manages to compose her expression once more.</p><p>The eyes that fall on her are brimming with joyful expectancy in their maroon depth, an innocent version of Hannibal’s persuasive charm. Bedelia could hardly say no.</p><p>“Yes, we can,” she responds, and Mira hugs her fiercely, making Bedelia smile.</p><p>“We are going to look so perfect on Christmas day,” her voice is muffled against Bedelia’s side, but the notion sinks in firmly.</p><p>Bedelia already feels the itchiness of cheap wool on her skin.</p><p> </p><p>Later that evening, sitting at her vanity, Bedelia massages the already absorbed cream into her palms, absentminded circular motion continuing as her mind ponders the current predicament. Her thoughts leap from one to another as she tries to establish if Mira’s ever brilliant curiosity could change its course in the next day or so. It seems unlikely; she seems very keen on the idea. The last thing Bedelia wants is to restrain her imagination. It is a harmless concept, in the end.</p><p>If only it were not so garish.</p><p>Her mind still deep in thought, she gets up from her seat and slips her robe off, draping it across the chair. She moves instinctively, her body findings its way beneath the sheets, drawn by the heat of the other.</p><p>“Is something troubling you?” Hannibal asks as her head settles in her usual spot on his chest, fingers reaching to brush away the hair falling on her forehead.</p><p>The gentle caress makes her sigh, bringing her back to the present moment.</p><p>“I was wondering if there is a possibility of Mira abandoning the idea of festive jumpers,” Bedelia responds, leaning into his touch.</p><p>Hannibal chuckles, the sound resonating down his chest, sending vibrations through her cheek. Bedelia’s head lifts instantly and she glares at him with severe reproach.</p><p>This is not a laughing matter as far as she is concerned.</p><p>“It is really an innocuous thing,” his fingers continue with their tender strokes.</p><p>“But not really a pleasing one,” Bedelia retorts, her eyes still glaring.</p><p>“It is not ideal, but it is so thrilling to see her that curious and excited,” he observes and Bedelia cannot help but agree.</p><p>“Yes, it is,” she allows herself to give into his touch ever so slightly.</p><p>“We should let her explore all the traditions she wishes to,” he carries on, practically reciting Bedelia’s own words back at her.</p><p>Her lips press together; she cannot really argue with herself.</p><p>“You do not seem very concerned with an idea of having to wear something so <em>festive</em>,” she says instead, invoking his aesthetic disposition.</p><p>Hannibal chuckles anew.</p><p>“It might be entertaining,” he says, fingers moving to brush against the sensitive spot on her neck.</p><p>This time Bedelia does not let herself be distracted.</p><p>“I guess it is only natural you would think that, given your fondness of paisley,” her lips twist in a pointedly directed riposte.</p><p>“That was very unbecoming of you, Countess,” his eyes gleaming with delight, Hannibal pretends hurt while his hand shifts down her body, tracing the curve of her back.</p><p>“Truth can be hard to stomach,” she smiles back at him and presses herself closer to his body.</p><p>“Do you trust me?” he says, thumb caressing her bottom lip.</p><p>“Not entirely,” she rejoins at once, grazing his finger with her teeth.</p><p>Hannibal’s eyes flare up like the brightest Christmas lights and Bedelia’s respond in same, their minds pondering the familiar exchange and how much has transpired since the words last lingered between them.</p><p>“I shall work on changing your mind,” his hand moves to cup her cheek, “Let us see what we can do about relieving your stress in the meantime.”</p><p>Bedelia sighs in approval as Hannibal rolls her on her back and begins to fulfil at least one of his promises.</p><p> </p><p>She was right not to keep her hopes up. The next day, the topic of jumpers rules over the breakfast table, with Mira creating drawings of possible designs in between mouthfuls of pancakes, turning the dining table into an impromptu art studio. Hannibal is more than happy to assist, offering <em>helpful </em>suggestions.</p><p>Bedelia’s last strand of hope hangs on a chance that even Hannibal’s most reliable contacts could be not withstand the holiday rush. With Christmas mere days away, all the supplies have long been delivered and the steady fall of snow announces the incoming weeks of isolation, ones Bedelia always looks forward to, enjoying the warm quietude of their winter seclusion.</p><p>But the strand is cut sharply two days before Christmas by an unexpected ring on the gate. The unknown delivery man is welcomed by Hannibal and his expectant smile. The man’s wary confusion of having to travel to such remote and unusual location is soon placated by a generous tip Hannibal offers him. The driver beams brightly and wishes them happy Christmas before leaving with haste, no doubt wanting to get away before the snow fall makes the road impassable.</p><p>Bedelia observes the exchange from a distance, eyes falling warily on the package in Hannibal’s hand. She knows it could only be one thing. And she is not the only one.</p><p>A patter of small feet grows louder, its palpable joy echoing against the high walls, as Mira runs down the stairs in a blur of pink and purple. A tad too joyous in her haste, Bedelia’s eyes narrow as she watches her daughter’s progress with worry until she is safely on the floor of the hallway.</p><p>“Are those the jumpers?” she does not waste time in approaching Hannibal, hands reaching out for the box.</p><p>“I believe they are,” Hannibal responds, looking down at her with a smile, “But let us open it first and see, shall we.”</p><p>He moves towards the library, now glancing at Bedelia and offering her a self-satisfied smile. She would rather not know what it implies. Mira follows eagerly in his footsteps but Bedelia stays behind. She decides to return upstairs instead, staying away from the festivities for a little longer.</p><p>Or rather preparing for what is to come.</p><p>She steps into the quietude of their bedroom, once again conflicted by her uneasiness. But she does not have a chance to consider her feelings for long.</p><p>“What do you think?” Hannibal’s voice brings her out of her contemplation.</p><p>She turns on a spot and an instant smile blooms at her mouth. Hannibal stands in the doorway in his newly acquired attire. The jumper is certainly <em>festive</em>, red background entwined with blue sprigs of holly, and numerous animals, pouncing across his chest in white. She can easily discern stags and alpacas. Bedelia’s eyes take in all the patterns and colours, her smile growing wider with every new detail discovered.</p><p>“It is rather <em>fetching</em>,” she says, trying to compose her face.</p><p>It is definitely the last thing she has imagined Hannibal Lecter wearing, even with his penchant for patterns, and yet it looks strangely appealing on him. Hannibal grins at her and adjusts the fit of the jumper. The animals on the pattern shift alongside it, as if moving on their merry way. It is utterly ridiculous; Bedelia cannot stop smiling.</p><p>“Is it one of Mira’s designs?” she asks, eyes once again falling on the prancing alpacas, pressing her lips together to suppress a chuckle.</p><p>“It is,” Hannibal says with clear pride.</p><p>“It suits you,” she adds, tilting her head aside and appraising him further. The statement is not without truth. It seems there is no outfit he cannot make work for himself.</p><p>“I am glad you like it,” he responds with genuine joy, his eyes twinkling as merrily as the patterns on the wool.</p><p>“I did not say I like it,” she tilts her head to the other side, eyes narrowing with purposeful tease.</p><p>Hannibal’s smile turns equally playful as he steps closer to Bedelia.</p><p>“As long as you like me,” he says softly, arm wrapping around her waist.</p><p>“That is to be decided,” she retorts, eyes darting towards the package in his other hand, one she was trying her best to ignore.</p><p>Following her gaze, Hannibal offers her the box. Bedelia’s smile slips away as her lips press together anew, face growing stern. She takes the box and moves towards the bed, placing it on its top. With a pause and a frown, she silently scrutinised the yet unopened offering. There is no point in delaying the inevitable, she tells herself and lifts the lid with a soft sight, expecting to find a similarly flashy garment within.</p><p>But she does not.</p><p>The cardigan folded neatly within the packing mauve paper is all red with a simple pattern of white stars adorning its middle. It can be considered almost casual. It is still far from what she would normally wear but it is not displeasing. Her hand reaches to meet the fabric and is met with another surprise; it is soft and luxurious to touch. Bedelia smiles to herself, recognizing cashmere.</p><p>“And?” Hannibal asks after a moment of her silent contemplation.</p><p>“It is not terrible,” she admits with a half-smile.</p><p>“Do you want to try it on?” he urges her on and she tilts her head in silent accord.</p><p>She removes her blouse and slips on the soft wool, all under a watchful, and lustful, eye of her husband. It appears he will never grow out of his boyish ways, but she cannot say that she minds. She pulls the jumper to fit her waist and gazes into the mirror. It looks good, how peculiar. Bedelia smiles at her own reflection, and sees Hannibal’s wide approving smile behind her.</p><p>“But will it be festive enough for Mira?” she asks suddenly, continuing to appraise the somehow modest jumper in the mirror.</p><p>“She was the one who chose it. She said you look really good in red,” Hannibal responds, stepping closer once more, his hand returning to the small of her back.</p><p>Bedelia smirks but feels familiar warmth settling in her chest.</p><p>“I wonder where she got that idea,” she gives him an amused side glance.</p><p>“She is very perceptive,” Hannibal counters, but the pride resonating in his voice is very much real.</p><p>“She is,” Bedelia lets the affection swirl in her heart.</p><p>As if being summoned by the conversation, another excited tap of small feet announce Mira’s arrival as she dashes into her parents’ bedroom.</p><p>“Mama, you look beautiful,” she stops and gasps in delight, eyes wide as she stares at Bedelia.</p><p>“Thank you. Not as beautiful as you,” Bedelia responds, smiling anew while she assesses her daughter’s jumper.</p><p>As expected, it is the most colourful of all three, bright hues of multiple colours entwining, with large alpacas pouncing around trees on its front, each wearing a red, glittery Santa hat. It is clearly her full vision materialised. Mira looks down at her own outfit, beaming at her mama’s praise.</p><p>“Do you like your jumper?” she asks, eyes brimming with expectancy.</p><p>“I do,” Bedelia replies with all honesty.</p><p>Any remnants of Bedelia’s doubts are forgotten as she sees her daughter’s excitement, further fuelling the fire of her joyfulness by admiring her jumper in great detail. And she knows the comfort spreading in her chest has nothing to do with the snugness of the fabric.</p><p> </p><p>There is no stopping the celebrations from starting early as Mira insists they all wear their jumpers to dinner. Bedelia expects it will the only acceptable attire for the next couple of days. She feels the soft wool wrapping her skin in warm cosiness and decides she does not mind.</p><p>They make for a curious sight at the dinner table, one that Bedelia never thought she would be part of. But like so many other novel situations she experienced here, it is not an unpleasant one. Quite the contrary. </p><p>After desert (and an extra helping for Mira as a treat for her successful designs), they move to the drawing room and the inviting crackle of the fire.</p><p>“Perhaps it is time to start a new holiday tradition,” Hannibal muses while they come to rest on a sofa in front of the fireplace.</p><p>“A jumper tradition?” Bedelia asks with a sceptical frown as she crosses her legs.</p><p>“No. Trusting me,” Hannibal retorts, a wide grin on his lips.</p><p>Bedelia’s mouth twists in silent reprimand as she readies a riposte, but it remains unuttered as Hannibal stands up to pull their daughter away from sitting too close to the open fire. Her expression softens as she watches Hannibal lift laughing Mira and bring her to sit with them on the sofa instead.</p><p>“I trust you in things that matter,” Bedelia says quietly, hand reaching to rest on his arm, her other arm wrapping around their daughter.</p><p>Hannibal returns the gesture, squeezing her hand with his in wordless reassurance of her trust. Mira settles in between them, fumbling happily until she makes herself comfortable.</p><p>The fire continues to snap merrily as they sink into the cosiness of each other, once as unseemly as the festive attires.</p><p>Now it is the only thing that matters.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mira courtesy of Lena (awayfromsight) ♥<br/>The story was inspired by a screen shot of Mads wearing a festive jumper from his upcoming movie (questionable hair not included). Thank you for reading!<br/>As always, happy New Year fellow bedannibal fans! ♥ Here is to yet another year of enjoying our favourite couple!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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